Sunday, September 25, 2005
And Guest
Went to a wedding with Roommate Liz last night. As the "and guest" for the evening, I knew absolutely no one, and accordingly it was my prerogative to get as shitcanned as possible and say inappropriate things. Let me just say that, in the course of the evening, I ate a whole table's supply of after-dinner truffles and slow danced with a 74-year-old woman. By the end of the night, the bartender was setting out our drinks for us before we even got within a five-yard radius of the bar. And that's how you make it classy, kids.
But the real highlight of the evening was the b-sides-only DJ. He seriously played more songs that I have never heard before in my life than I had ever dreamed possible, including a song declaring the listener a "diamond girl" and several early-hip-hop-sounding songs with inappropriately randy lyrics. But we did get to hear Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath my Wings," at least, and several separate renditions of the chicken dance. Add to this his constant shouts of "this is a wedding, not a funeral!" and his trashtastic fake-gold- and Dynasty-era-shoulder-pads-wearing girlfriend standing by his side, and you have a real recipe for wedded bliss.
Oh, and in the "I am an idiot" department, Roommate Liz and I decided to take a cab to this event, which, as it was on the far Northwest side of the city, cost us $25. So we ended up hitching a ride home with my aforementioned slow-dance-partner. When your night ends in a stranger's Hyundai, you know it's been a magical one.
Went to a wedding with Roommate Liz last night. As the "and guest" for the evening, I knew absolutely no one, and accordingly it was my prerogative to get as shitcanned as possible and say inappropriate things. Let me just say that, in the course of the evening, I ate a whole table's supply of after-dinner truffles and slow danced with a 74-year-old woman. By the end of the night, the bartender was setting out our drinks for us before we even got within a five-yard radius of the bar. And that's how you make it classy, kids.
But the real highlight of the evening was the b-sides-only DJ. He seriously played more songs that I have never heard before in my life than I had ever dreamed possible, including a song declaring the listener a "diamond girl" and several early-hip-hop-sounding songs with inappropriately randy lyrics. But we did get to hear Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath my Wings," at least, and several separate renditions of the chicken dance. Add to this his constant shouts of "this is a wedding, not a funeral!" and his trashtastic fake-gold- and Dynasty-era-shoulder-pads-wearing girlfriend standing by his side, and you have a real recipe for wedded bliss.
Oh, and in the "I am an idiot" department, Roommate Liz and I decided to take a cab to this event, which, as it was on the far Northwest side of the city, cost us $25. So we ended up hitching a ride home with my aforementioned slow-dance-partner. When your night ends in a stranger's Hyundai, you know it's been a magical one.
